Vicars and bunnies
by GarGoyl
Summary: Faced with the prospect of an arranged marriage right after his graduation, the nephew of a ruined English baronet is determined to try and preserve at least some of his dignity… A pursuit which will go more or less smoothly, thanks to a certain bespectacled blond. Might involve some crack, too. Rated for… bunnies.
1. Chapter 1

**PROLOGUE**

A/N – Hello my dear readers! (Seriously, this is getting OLD!) So, yeah, that happened, I just started yet another new story. Do not worry though, I will not neglect the others. About this one I won't give any spoilers just yet (agonized enough with the summary for that matter :)))). Anyway, I want to keep it very short, so it will consist of only two or three chapters max. Also, I know this is a bit of a 'fairy-tale', as in not-very-realistic, but it's all for plot's sake and you probably know by now that I write the weirdest crap. So enjoy and don't forget to let me know what you think will happen next.

Warnings: alcohol consumption and substance abuse

* * *

Today was the worst day of his life.

His steps echoed eerily through the empty, dim-lit hall as the blond walked with hurried, almost stumbling steps, his hand helplessly crumpling the fine piece of paper. Once he reached his destination, Arthur paused for a moment, gaze blurry with tears sweeping over the ornate door of the luxurious apartment he and his two best friends shared in the students' dorm, thinking that time had eventually come for him to pay for that, as well as for all the other good things he'd ever had – with his very life. His cheeks burned with humiliation and his hand trembled as he reached for the doorknob at the thought of having to share the dreadful news with his friends.

"Well, what now? You look like you've seen a ghost…"

The question was asked in a dull voice and midnight blue eyes barely left the pages of the book the Norwegian was currently reading as the other walked into the elegant drawing room and stopped short, his back leaning tiredly against the closed door as if he were trying to catch his breath.

"It… happened." the Englishman confessed in a final tone, continuing to struggle with a mixture of shame and utter mortification. It was just like any other moment when something really bad happened and he would be frozen in shock, unable to get himself to believe what had just occurred. But it was pointless, no denial was possible, all the more since this dreaded moment was something he'd been expecting for a while now.

"What?"

Vlad had a rather cheerful expression as he was reaching out for another cookie, but then his gaze fell on the expensive paper clutched frantically in his friend's hand and he suddenly guessed. "Oh."

Most of the students must have envied Arthur Kirkland – the nephew of Lord Benedict Kirkland, Baronet, Lukas - the eldest son of Lord Bondevik and Vlad – the last descendant of the long line of Cazimir counts, but it was only because they had no idea what their lives were really like. Their families were noble but all without exception in ruin, even if they'd managed so far to pull some stunts to keep the desired appearance of wealth. And there was a heavy price to be paid for that – actually their only valid assets were their titles and as a result all three of them were going to be eventually forced into arranged marriages. In fact, Vlad was already engaged, Lukas' situation was still unofficial but the deal had been made and now… and now, three months before graduating from university, Arthur himself had been kindly informed by his uncle in writing (the old bastard hadn't dared to call) that a proper suitor had been found for his hand. A bloody suitor!

"Well, don't just stand there," Lukas eventually said, putting the book aside. "Have a seat and tell us what the letter says. And why the hell did he send a letter, anyway? What century does he think this is?!"

The Englishman moved on nearly wobbly legs, gratefully plopping into a chair by the tea table. He watched absentmindedly as Vlad poured him a cup of strong black tea and pushed it towards him. He swallowed hard, staring at the slight steam rising from it and wishing the world would just freeze in this moment, with him stuck in front of this cup of tea, forever.

"I-it says… well apparently my uncle has found a suitable… _partner_ for me, so he's decided that right after my graduation would be a good time for the official engagement…" The green-eyed blond paused and snorted bitterly, still airily fixating the cup. "I knew… I always knew that this was the reason we've left England and here it is," he added, tossing the crumpled paper onto the table, "a rich American industrialist is to have the privilege of showing off with my so-called lordship, even if I'm not to inherit any actual title myself. He must have dreamed of this all along, the old bastard. Now he'll get to keep that… that ridiculous mansion, free of mortgages!"

"You knew this would happen eventually, "the Norwegian observed. "And besides, maybe it won't be that bad. It's just a _marriage_, for fuck's sake. Nobody died." he said dryly.

Vlad rolled his eyes. "Oh, it's _just a_ _marriage_! It's an arranged marriage, you idiot, which is pretty much like becoming a prostitute. The only difference is that when you're a prostitute the client comes, fucks you, pays and fucks off, while when you're married the client doesn't pay and they don't fuck off either. The last part being the worst, if you ask me…"

The pale blond sighed, his mouth twisting into a slight grimace." I can't believe we're debating this _yet again_! Why the fuck are _you_ making such a fuss?!" he retorted, scowling. "You're the only one of us who's actually engaged to a girl!"

"Well if you count the bumps on the back of my head you'll come to realize that Elizaveta isn't much of a _girl_! And she's a fucking loathsome bitch who walks around with a frying pan! She's nothing like Matthias! That guy really likes you."

"Well _whoppee_, it's not mutual. And he's retarded." Lukas pointed out, grabbing his book again.

"He's also easy to manipulate, so I don't really see your problem!" the Romanian replied bluntly.

"Why are we discussing manipulation now, of all things?"

Vlad rolled his eyes. "Because it's an arranged marriage, twat. What would you have us discuss, true love?"

Further mortified by the current discussion (if that was even possible), Arthur buried his face in his hands. "What the hell are you saying, you wankers?!" he muttered through gritted teeth. "It's very bad, it's bloody awful! Do you not understand? My whole life is about to go down the drain! Just what the bloody hell am I going to do?!"

"Nothing, you're going to take one for the 'team', just like the rest of us," Lukas said calmly. "And Vlad is right in a way, we've got to play our cards right, even if it's a shit hand. There is one thing you should consider doing before your engagement though… and ideally with someone other than your intended spouse. Because otherwise it would be pathetic, like… _on an epic scale_. You know what I'm saying?"

Blood rose in the Englishman's cheeks at the thought and a choked sob escaped his lips. It wasn't like it was an easy matter anyway – in fact it couldn't have been more complicated. And coming out now of all times, after he'd carefully kept quiet about it… But his friend was right, it would have been good if he did something about _that,_ after all, at his age…. Obviously, easier said than done and the idea just added extra pressure on his strained nerves. Shaking his head, the green-eyed blond stood abruptly from the table and stormed off to his room, slamming the door shut.

Vlad threw the other blond a quick glare. "You're not helping."

* * *

The American was scribbling hurriedly in his notebook, licking his lips from time to time as he flicked the pages of various books scattered on the table in front of him, shaking his head in the rhythm pouring from his earbuds. A light, carefree smile persisted on his face as he worked happily on his assignment.

From the far end of the library table, green eyes kept peering in his direction every now and then, their owner unable to concentrate on the book lying abandoned in front of him for a while now. The tall bespectacled blond, Alfred F. Jones, was popular, a brilliant student, the heart of all parties and the happiest, most cheerful person he'd ever seen. And that was most likely because he was free to enjoy his life and his youth instead of being forced into all sorts of ridiculous constraints and after graduation a successful career awaited him within his family's business, instead of the absurdity of an arranged marriage! In that very moment, as he watched from across the room, Arthur decided that he hated Alfred F. Jones.

"What are you doing?"

Abruptly pulled from his observations by the cold voice, the Englishman turned irritably and gave his friend an annoyed look. "Well, what does it look like I'm doing? Can't you see what I'm doing?!"

Lukas tsked. "I can only see what you're not doing – namely working at our joint project," he observed. "I wish you'd snap out of this and pull yourself together for a change."

"Pull myself together?! This is the bloody twenty-fucking-first century!" Arthur shouted, loud enough to have several pairs of eyes stare in his direction. An earbud slipped from Alfred's ear in the same moment and his head jerked up from his notebook. His puzzled gaze swept the library, eventually coming to rest curiously upon the angry green-eyed blond.

Arthur's hand flew to his mouth and he rapidly looked away, scowling. "And what if the rest of the student council finds out about this? I'll be… I'll be their laughing stock!" he continued to rant, this time whispering. "Or what if someone read my mail? If this gets out… I couldn't-…"

The pale blonde Norwegian just rolled his eyes. "Would you just stop it already! How could it possibly get out? If Vlad and I managed to keep it under wraps, so will you. And stop obsessing over this whole marriage thing, it's going to be just fine." Lukas stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder and pulling his friend to his feet. "Come now, pick up your stuff and let's get the hell out of here!"

* * *

The green-eyed blond let himself be dragged out of the library and down the hall, a bit bewildered and taken by surprise by his friend's sudden enthusiasm. Lukas was a quiet, uneventful person usually, but he had wild moments every now and then and if he were to be completely honest Arthur was rather wary of them. After all, it wasn't like he could afford to do any crazy stuff, Benedict was adamant about him keeping a perfect reputation as a member of the student council – among many other things.

He should have worked on the project instead of mopping around, then the Norwegian wouldn't have gotten any crazy ideas. An unpleasant tightness persisted in the Englishman's stomach as he fought to push away the thought of his impending marriage enough to be able to go about daily tasks without driving himself up the wall. And now Lukas wanted-

"Come my friend, we need to get you some 'decent' clothes! Tonight we're going to Francis' party," the pale blond announced, dropping his bag in the living room of their apartment. "Vlad, are you coming? I'm sure fanfiction or whatever the hell you're currently wasting your time with can wait…"

The Romanian sat sulking in front of his laptop and shook his head. "I can't. The _hellhound_ is picking me up in an hour to have tea with her great-aunt…" he grumbled ill-humoredly. "But I'm totally in for tonight!"

"Wait, wait, what?!" Arthur seemed to snap out of trance eventually. "What are you talking about? I-I can't go… " He shook his head vigorously, now panic coursing through him as he observed the unyielding gazes of his two friends. "You know my uncle doesn't want me to… go to parties and such…" As he spoke, somewhere in the back of his mind there was a sparkle of realization that, at twenty-one, he shouldn't have needed Benedict's permission for a bit of fun. But fuck his luck - he, Arthur Kirkland, wasn't as fortunate as everyone else. "If he finds out about this-"

Vlad rolled his eyes. "Well just fuck your uncle for once! Besides, how could he find out? Does he have spies in this fucking school or what?"

All color drained from the green-eyed blond's face upon hearing that – he wouldn't have been so sure such an idea was to be ruled out. The man was capable of a great deal of shit and he'd made a point that his nephew's behavior (which was to be flawless) would count when considering his 'market value'.

"Arthur, you seriously need to stop just complying with everything you're told, or you're seriously going to die a-… Well, actually you won't, but that will only be thanks to the arranged marriage," Lukas pointed.

"Hah, excuse you! No one here enjoys your extensive experience," the strawberry blond observed, his eyes glued to the screen while he typed something frantically.

The Norwegian waved his hand dismissively. "I'm not talking to people who write comprehensive works of _fiction_ (he carefully emphasized the word) about stuff they never did. Now Arthur, I won't take no for an answer. We'll just have to make sure you don't get recognized, just to stay on the safe side, okay?"

No. No okay. Not in the slightest.

* * *

Arthur didn't think this was funny, or exciting or anything. It was quite horrifying instead – a huge crowd seemed to have invaded Francis' uncle's villa – which happened to be usually vacated in the weekends and used for some seriously mad partying on a regular basis. And a huge crowd meant (although Lukas insisted otherwise) all the more chances he'd be recognized and have rumors started about how his whole 'perfect student' front was just an act. And hell, it would have really only taken one night for that!

He of course had worried that since he would be seen with his two best friends –although they did go to parties rather often abandoning the poor Englishman in the solitude of their apartment – people would easily get a clue on his identity. Until Lukas had unexpectedly decided to _cross-dress_, fact which had turned Arthur's previous worry into plain mortification. Lukas had chosen a lacy pink baby-doll top and a black mini skirt, and his pale blond strands, free from the usual cross-shaped hairclip, fell onto his forehead and around his face in a chic fashion. His rather childish features needed no make-up to pull this particular stunt, but he still somewhat clung to Arthur's arm, because admittedly the stiletto boots were tricky.

The green-eyed blond himself would have gone for a pair of shades for his 'emotional comfort', on top of the worn black leather punk outfit chosen by his friend (well, after much debate he'd accepted the leather jacket, still hell-bent on some very simple black jeans to go with it). But the shades were not an option apparently, instead the Norwegian had improvised with a significant amount of black eyeliner. It brought out the peridot color of Arthur's eyes in a spectacular fashion, he reckoned. The Englishman thought it was rather sinister, but then pretty much everything else was.

"Look, you have nothing to worry about," the pale blond instructed. "It's just a party so act like you belong here and besides, as soon as everyone's drunk it won't really matter how awkward you are. Not to mention, it might help you significantly loosen up."

Arthur threw a worried look through the open door, at the people already gathered inside, then at the large courtyard where groups were chatting around the pool sipping on cocktails, still looking civil enough, and took a deep breath. His friends were right – it was just a party, a harmless little party. No one would ever know he'd been here – not with this disguise – and he wasn't going to do anything to attract unwanted attention either. As for getting drunk, he wouldn't dream of such a repulsive thing. Sure, he'd have a sip or two, but that would be all.

Less than twenty minutes later, his plan of keeping things in check went to shit monumentally. As soon as they were inside, Lukas disappeared somewhere – suddenly sure-footed on the stilettos – leaving him with Vlad, then quickly returned with three paper cups filled with some peculiar, strawberry-scented drink. He downed his rapidly, in one gulp, and so did Vlad, therefore the Englishman politely complied with the request to do the same. And then they had another. And another.

Suddenly everything became significantly funnier, hilarious even.

"There you were, my little vampire friend! I have some candy for you," came a hissed chuckle and Gilbert Beilschmidt popped up right behind Vlad, a heavy palm being rather forcefully brought down on the strawberry blond's shoulder.

"I'm not your _little vampire friend_," the other observed dryly, ignoring the open palm presented in front of him and containing a few pink and purple pills. "And I don't take this shit either."

"Aww, maybe you should, it's guaranteed to lighten up a sour mood," the Prussian insisted. "You looked all alone and sulking without the awesome me, what with your 'crush' straying again," he said, pointing to the living-room where Elizaveta sat slumped on a large sofa, sobbing into her drink, her make-up already smeared down her cheeks and her curls in disarray.

Vlad scowled quizzically in her direction. "She's not my crush, you idiot, and what's up with that anyway?"

"Same old, same old," Gilbert explained with a sigh. "Girls are all over Roddy because he has big blue eyes and plays the piano, but truth be told he rarely manages to 'complete the assignments', if you know what I mean. See, they always corner him at parties, but he on the other hand is hell-bent on proving to the world that he's a heavy drinker and can take loads. Lizzie didn't waste time, but he had already tried his luck with Ivan's vodka and as a result he was asleep before she could even finish unbuttoning his shirt, kesesesese!"

"What the actual fuck?!"

"I know, right? But looks like you've got yourself a fine replacement regardless," the albino suddenly noticed and his hand shot down, promptly grabbing Lukas's backside through the black miniskirt. "What is your name, sweetheart?" Arthur stared - no way the albino was that drunk (and unsuspecting).

"My name is 'Take-your-hand-off-me-or-I'll–rip it-off-and-slap-you-with-it', a pleasure to meet you," the Norwegian said with a wide, sweet smile.

Gilbert grinned, but removed his hand nevertheless. "Ah, a feisty little one," he appreciated. "But where's Bondevik, working in some dark closet again for a high fee?"

"Well, who knows, I think- haaaah!" Vlad gasped in pain as a sharp stiletto was discreetly but forcefully shoved into his shin. "No, he'd never do that!"

* * *

The lights had dimmed to a confusing semi-obscurity and the music had gotten much louder. Lukas had disappeared somewhere (hopefully not in some dark closet as Gilbert had previously suggested), while Vlad was off dancing precisely with said Prussian. Left to his own devices and having had too much to drink as it was, Arthur had slumped dizzily against the wall next to a table of drinks and was currently fighting sleep and disappointment at his own lack of stamina.

"Hey! You alright, dude? You look a little pale," a voice said from up close, yet still hardly able to cover the loud music blaring from the sound system. A tall silhouette had stooped over his crouched form and the Englishman looked up warily, only to see none other than Alfred F. Jones peering down at him with a look of genuine concern. Well. Shit.

"Oh…yes, it's just the heat and the…" Arthur frowned and stared confusedly into the paper cup he was still holding absentmindedly, unable to identify the fruity flavored beverage contained in it."…the punch," he guessed, with an awkward smile. A hand was extended and he took it, hauling himself up on wobbly legs. A wave of dizziness washed over him at the rather brusque movement – hell, maybe standing up hadn't been such a good idea.

"So… I don't remember having seen you around," the taller blond said, just as Arthur was fleetingly wondering where his leather jacket had gone. He glanced down at his tight black shirt which sported a bloody skull and a… ketchup stain? Oh, God. Where the hell did that come from, he was sure he'd never had anything to eat the whole evening.

"Well, I… um… just came here with a friend," he replied, still fumbling with his shirt."Lukas Bondevik," he clarified to the other's quizzical gaze. If someone really had to strike up a conversation, why – oh God why - did it have to be Jones, from all people? Fortunately, Mr. Popularity seemed oblivious enough to his identity. "But momentarily he is otherwise occupied and left me here…"

The bespectacled blond only laughed softly at this and – whether satisfied or not by the explanation – showed no intention of sodding off anytime soon.

"I'm Alfred," he said instead."And your name is?"

"Uh…it's Benedict," the Englishman muttered, immediately struck by what he'd just said. Horrible! It was positively disturbing than even when he was supposedly having some fun all he could think of was his bloody uncle! Unforgivable. He couldn't believe he'd given Alfred that bastard's name. He should have come up with a better name, something attractive perhaps, something like… well, nothing came to mind for the moment, but still.

But to his surprise, Alfred's face lit up with a wide smile in reply. "Oh wow! Like the eggs, right?"

"Eggs?"

"Yeah, Benedict eggs, you know? It's a kind of breakfast."

"Right…" Right. A kind of breakfast. Hell.

Suddenly, Alfred's shoulder was gripped and quite forcefully turned and Gilbert popped up again (Not good! Definitely not good!), his wide grin even more obnoxious if possible. His other hand was gripping a stumbling Vlad, yet as soon as the strawberry blond propped himself against the table, he reached for a new glass of liquor.

"Alfred, my friend, here you were!" the Prussian yelled over the music. "I have a special offer for you and this stuff is guaranteed to be the ultimate shit!" The pink and purple pills were gone, now replaced by a small container filled with bright red ones. "And since you're my friend, I'll give you a discount!"

The American picked up the container curiously, his gaze narrowing behind his glasses as he examined the contents with a confused expression. "Dude, are you sure these aren't just stupid vitamins or something?"

"Seriously Gil, you need to stop selling shit and trying to get rich off your friends!" Vlad cut in.

The albino rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Edward Cullen!" He shoved his apparent 'date' aside and flashed an even bigger smile. "Alright then, to show you my awesome generosity, there, a free promotion, you can keep the whole bottle. But just so you know, I could have charged you 200 bucks!"

"You shut up, Headless Horseman!" the other didn't give up.

"Wha-?! Hey, I'm not headless!"

"Actually, that's debatable…"

Oblivious to the dispute, Alfred shook out two pills into his palm and reached for a glass in turn. "Oh well, the fuck with it! Bottoms up!" With that, he downed the pills and the contents of the glass in one gulp. The container was then passed to Arthur – who had been left staring confusedly at what was going on.

"Well, I suppose… I could give it a try…"

He strongly suspected that a blush was creeping on his face under Alfred's expectant, somewhat curious and definitely interested gaze, therefore he decided that further awkwardness was to be avoided. Hell, whatever, the Englishman thought briefly, letting the pills slide down his throat in turn, washed with a large mouthful of Scotch.

* * *

Next thing he knew the two of them were dancing in the large living room, among countless other pairs, Alfred's arms resting loosely on his waist while his nose was awkwardly buried into the taller blond's shoulder, both of them swaying numbly to the pounding rhythm of drums. And then, without warning, the other lifted his chin with two fingers and leaned in, capturing his lips with his own. The green-eyed boy winced and gulped (or rather tried to), his fingers finding purchase onto his partner's biceps. The muscles were taut and warm under the thin fabric of the sleeves and he gave them a light, experimental squeeze, before Alfred's tongue made its way into his obedient mouth and he could think no more.

The Englishman could feel his face heating up more and more as he responded shyly to the kiss, feeling clumsy and even a tad scared. Fleetingly he realized that he should have been uncomfortable seeing how they were in the middle of a crowd and not some private place, but the very thought was blurry, everything was dimmed by the sudden sensory overload.

And then Alfred's hands traveled down his back and slid tentatively into the back pockets of his jeans, in the same time as his hot lips left his mouth and worked a trail of kisses onto his jaw line and slowly up to his ear.

"Benedict… how about we go upstairs?" the taller blond whispered sensuously, ending his murmur with a bitten tug at the Englishman's earlobe.

Arthur's eyes snapped open, widening a bit as he sucked in a breath. No. He should say no. Because this was Alfred F. Jones and he happened to have a little expertise problem. Or complete lack thereof. But the other's hands were exploring him in such an inviting manner, his cologne was intoxicating, his voice so mesmerizing…

"Okay?"

"O-okay…"

They both stumbled up the stairs and – not into the comfort of a bedroom as Arthur had envisaged – but into a closet. How ironical. A flickering light bulb hung low, poorly illuminating the narrow space. He found himself pushed up to sit on top of what appeared to be an old washing machine and the American settled between his spread legs, pressing their bodies close as he resumed kissing him.

The kisses were now hungrier, more urgent, pants escaping occasionally and eager fingers found their way beneath the hem of the Englishman's shirt. Short nails grazed over the soft skin they encountered, before the fingers traveled up onto the smaller blond's sides. Soon his shirt was lifted up entirely and pulled off, then quickly discarded. Alfred only paused on sucking and nipping at his neck to take off his own shirt and have it join the other's on the floor.

He pushed the green-eyed boy further against the wall and moved his mouth lower on his body, giving a tentative lick to one nipple while his hands sneaked into the back of Arthur's jeans and into his underwear, heartily squeezing the soft flesh. Both actions caused the other boy to moan and pant harder, arching his body more into his partner's and wrapping his legs around his waist.

"Mmm… delicious…" the American complimented, smirking against the other's skin as shy hands trailed down his own torso, lingering over the taut stomach. But then he looked up and straightened his back, brushing his thumb to wipe off some of the black make-up now smeared over his lover's cheek. "You're so beautiful, baby…" he muttered grinning, his fingers pushing a few sweat-matted strands away from Arthur's eyes and glancing deep into the wide green orbs. "…are you nervous?"

"Nuh-uh…" As proof of his complete lack of nervousness, the smaller blond buried his nose in the crook of the other's neck, fingers gripping his bare shoulders in a mixture of anticipation and plain fear. But he would have rather died than admit the last part.

"Then… what are you waiting for, honeybun?" A playful bite to his ear.

The green-eyed boy undecidedly reached down between their bodies, fumbling clumsily with Alfred's belt buckle and, as the taller blond moved back to make some space, he tripped on something and fell on his back onto the plush rug on the floor, pulling Arthur down on top of him in the process. The American broke off into a drunken giggle at this, his fingers finding their way again into the back of his lover's jeans. And then, without warning, everything went still, a few moments of silence followed by something which sounded suspiciously like a… snore? Scowling, Arthur gave up on the troublesome buckle and looked up questioningly at the other boy's face. Surely, it couldn't be!

But the situation was clear - lips slightly parted and glasses askew, Alfred F. Jones was fast asleep.

Well. Damn.

**_To be continued_**

A/N – I know, I know, but don't despair completely, it will eventually happen… LOL.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

A/N – Dear all, a big hug for all the feedback, it means a lot to me! I know there's been a significant delay in posting this final update, but I was utterly uninspired… What can I say? Anyway, enjoy the final chapter and if you liked this story feel welcome to check my other USUK projects as well.

Warning: more alcohol consumption and England's waiter outfit. Yes.

* * *

"So, he fell asleep."

"Yes. Just when things were… well. In a way it was a huge relief, you can imagine. But then again, it was an equally huge disappointment," Arthur muttered under his breath, pretending to take notes as Kiku Honda – the student council president – was reading the meeting schedule and his plans for the new university newspaper due in two weeks.

Next to him Vlad was in a sour mood of his own, faced with the daunting perspective of having to cover up for an epic stunt his secret fiancé had pulled at the party at some point, while brokenhearted after Roderich Edelstein's unfortunate and unexpected passing out. Lukas was nowhere to be found, so they'd had to lie about him being sick. Arthur for one was certain that the hangover he was currently experiencing was the worst in the world history of hangovers, the pounding in his skull worsening at the slightest movement. At least Kiku was in the habit of speaking in a low voice, thank God!

"He's looking this way, you know," the strawberry blond pointed, fiddling with a pen and pretending to be mildly interested in what was being discussed as vice-president Ludwig eagerly started a debate, creating some more headache-amplifying blabber.

"Who?"

"Jones, who else."

Shit. Pale fingers dug helplessly in his aching brow as the Englishman gulped, trying to push away from his mind certain stirring images while his cheeks began to heat up. But there was no way Alfred could have known the truth, right? No chance in hell, he repeated to himself, but the mantra failed to reassure him.

"It doesn't mean anything after all, right? It was nothing… nothing worth mentioning I mean, we just made out, that doesn't count, right?"

Vlad scowled. "Count for what? Just stop stressing out, okay? He probably doesn't remember shit, he was drunk out of his mind even before he took whatever shit pills Gilbert _kindly_ supplied. Besides, you were in disguise. On a different note how the fuck am I supposed to keep under wraps that the whore who happens to be my fiancé accidentally on purpose got into a threesome with my two Italian cousins who are both brainless and loud-mouthed?! And it's technically my fault, because the family thinks I'm supposed to chaperone her on all social events!"

"Um… I thought chaperoning meant something slightly different?" the green-eyed blond observed." And shouldn't someone else be supposed to chaperone _the_ _two of you_?"

"Well, fuck! This whole marriage bullshit is getting out of hand!" the Romanian grumbled.

"Right. As if it had ever been _in_ hand…"

"Arthur, is there something you would like to add? If so, please share it with the rest of us," Ludwig suddenly said, with barely restrained irritation, drawing everyone's attention on the Englishman and his friend.

Biting back a swear, the culprit cleared his throat awkwardly but held his chin up nevertheless, meeting the speaker's gaze with a dignified air. "Certainly. We were just thinking that perhaps the two week deadline is a bit too tight? If we could by any chance make it three-"

"NO! Have you not been paying any attention until now?!" the German roared. "Or are you deliberately trying to piss us off?!"

Oh, he wouldn't have dreamed of it. Arthur slumped back in his chair defeated, sighing deeply as the vice-president continued to shout in their general direction, emphasizing with more words than necessary that if they wanted to stay in the students' council they had better put in the same amount of work and within the same deadlines as everyone else. He didn't need to look up to know that Jones was watching him intently and chuckling. Useless bastard.

* * *

As soon as the ordeal was finally over, the green-eyed blond attempted to bolt from the room, only to be caught by the merciless Ludwig (silently backed up by Kiku's reproachful stare) and have an impressive amount of study material shoved in his arms. Some more tedious lecture accompanied it, lasting long enough until nearly everyone had left the meeting room. God, he just wanted to go back to his dorm and pass out on the bed!

"Hey, Arthur!"

The startling voice had the Englishman stop dead in his tracks and instantly annoyed as he could intuit the American's happy-go-lucky and highly obnoxious grin even before he actually turned and saw it. Bloody wanker!

"Alfred. Is there anything I can help you with?" he asked coldly, sternly, hoping to discourage the other and make him sod off fairly quickly.

The American sauntered towards him casually, almost teasingly, although _officially_ the two of them were barely acquainted and carelessly invaded his personal space. "Well, is there? Maybe… who knows…" he replied thoughtfully, lifting his hand and capturing the smaller blond's chin between his thumb and index finger. He leaned in, searching the other's eyes from up close with a knowing and gradually reassured smile.

"Now, that's very interesting… but _it was_ you, wasn't it? Not that the black makeup was half bad, but I must say you look better without it. See, this deep shade of green, I knew I'd seen it before."

The other's knees went weak, but he would not give up without a fight. Swatting the taller blond's hand away, he blinked angrily, feigning revolted confusion. "What the hell are you rambling about, Jones?! What could you possibly mean by that?"

"Now… what could I possibly mean by that… _Benedict_?" Alfred scowled lightly."No, wait! Benedict is your uncle, isn't it? My bad…"

On top of the already splitting headache, Arthur felt the sky collapsing over his head. What now?! There was no point in denying it further and it wasn't like he could hope to count on Mr. Popularity's discretion. He was screwed with capital 'S'. But then again, it was nothing, nothing! They'd just made out, nothing awfully compromising had transpired, so…

"And?" he retorted cheekily.

Jones's eyebrow shot up in surprise and he blinked, his gaze narrowing as he appeared to ponder. "And you'd go to such lengths to hide your identity because….? It's not like you're with anyone and you were doing stuff behind their back, so why all this secrecy?"

No, I'm just about to become engaged to someone I don't even know. But obviously, he couldn't say that out loud. The smaller blond's face scrunched up in a pained grimace he couldn't hold back. "Well, look… I-I'm not seeing anyone but it's complicated…" he grumbled, staring hard at the floor. Fuck. Perhaps he should mention his uncle? Oh no, bloody bad idea, no, no! "Why do you care anyway?"

"What?"

"Yes, why do you care? I mean let's face it, it didn't mean anything," Arthur went on, gaining a bit of courage." It was a fling gone bad because… whatever, but it's not like you're interested in me or anything, right? It's not like you want a _relationship_, everyone knows you don't do that sort of stuff, right?"

And right then, as he spoke the words, the Englishman saw Alfred F. Jones's one million dollars smile slip away from his handsome face, like a brilliantly polished façade which simply crumbled upon impact with some horrid and carefully concealed truth.

"Eheh… that's right, I don't do that kind of stuff…" the taller blond admitted with uncharacteristic awkwardness.

"That's what I thought."

With that, Arthur quickly turned his back on him and walked away, gripping the stack of papers tightly and even ignoring the sharp sting of a paper cut, relieved he'd been miraculously able to fix _it_ somehow. But there was something more he felt aside from that, the Englishman couldn't get rid of the sensation that he'd made something snap in the other young man, that he'd involuntarily dug up and caught a glimpse of a certain something meant to be well-hidden.

* * *

"It was a mistake, a horrible mistake!"

"What was?"

Lukas was sprawled out on the bed face down, three different types of painkillers lying around scattered onto the duvet. With a groan, he turned slightly, eyeing his friend through unruly, pale bangs.

"That… the… thing with Jones."

The green-eyed blond had thought his problems were over, at least for the moment, the added complication removed, but he'd been dead wrong. Now he found himself restless, tormenting himself over the memory of those fleeting moments of pleasure, over that little, superficial pretense of affection which had nevertheless left him empty inside and wanting more. Did he really like Jones? Well, hard to say. But there was clearly more to the man than the shallow front the American was always putting up, a sort of vulnerability which had been laid out for a moment for him alone to see.

And thus, it had been a grave mistake to try and taste what was forbidden and cause himself even more pain and torment. Not when he didn't have a choice but to do what his family asked of him. In these circumstances, the mere thought of Alfred F. Jones hurt him. The soft kiss of his lips, the warm touch of his hands had been more than Arthur had ever been given and now he was surely to receive only a mockery of that in the future.

"Fuck Jones… my head hurts," Lukas replied matter-of-factly.

"But-"

The green-eyed blond was brusquely cut off by the startling ringing of his own phone and he answered with a trembling hand upon seeing the caller ID. It was his uncle.

* * *

The first of the presumably long row of dreadful days to follow had finally come. It was on this fateful Saturday that Arthur was to go to Mr. and Mrs. Benedict Kirkland's mansion and meet the one he was to become engaged with and eventually married, as soon as he graduated.

Finishing fixing up the pearly grey silk tie and smoothing the lapels of the black suit jacket and trousers, the Englishman paused to stare at his reflection in the large mirror, his gaze sweeping warily over the unruly golden bangs, thick eyebrows, pale face slightly dusted with freckles and tired green eyes with vague darker shadows underneath as he wondered whether his suitor would be pleased. He hadn't slept at all the night before and now had skipped both breakfast and lunch, instead choosing to indulge in a quite different treat.

No… this wouldn't do.

Taking another hearty swig from the bottle of scotch, Arthur turned on his heels and walked into the Norwegian's currently empty bedroom, resorting to digging determinedly into his friend's wardrobe until he found what he was looking for. Then, as calm and composed as he could be under the circumstances, he stripped off the neat suit and tie and put the outfit on.

* * *

The gravel crunched under the tall black boots (thank God without heels) as the green-eyed blond descended from the cab, pulling the long Burberry trench coat tighter around his body and refastening the belt. For a fleeting moment he eyed the ominous-looking mansion, but no, Arthur would not let his determination falter now. No time to turn back and change anyway, but on the brighter side he'd managed to arrive precisely at the indicated hour.

A black, sumptuous limousine was parked nearby - the driver smoking carelessly while leaning against the hood – and the student gave it a brief, blasé gaze and snorted. Of course, his betrothed to be was rich, otherwise none of this would have been about to happen.

Despite the warmth and assuredness provided by alcohol, a long shudder ran down the Englishman's spine as he walked up the few steps at the entrance and let himself in, forcing a deep breath out of his chest. Was his uncle going to kill him? Probably. Or maybe the 'distinguished American industrialist' would like it after all.

The family's old maid had prepared drinks for the guests and she was just walking out with the tray when she noticed her master's nephew.

"Hello, Agnes," the blond greeted with a small smile which was quick to slip off his face at the prospect of what was to come, as he carefully peeled off his trench coat and hung it in the rack by the door, then adjusted his bowtie and smoothed down the black apron.

The old woman's eyes went wide. "M-Master Arthur!" she stuttered, blinking and hands holding up the tray beginning to shake a bit as she took in the sight of the young man wearing nothing but a crisp white collar held with a black silk bowtie, white cuffs to match, a tight black apron barely reaching his mid-thigh wrapped around his waist and knee-high black boots. The skimpy outfit was disturbingly completed by a pair of white bunny ears and a fluffy white tail tied in the back, just above the ribbon of the apron.

"Here, let me take that to them," Arthur offered kindly, taking the tray from her hands before she got the chance to drop it and have the contents smash against the ground.

* * *

"Anyway, as I was saying, my wife and I prefer to spend our summer vacations in-…"

Benedict Kirkland's words died on his lips and his eyes nearly popped out of his head, seemingly only held back by his glasses, at the sight of his nephew. Arthur's aunt only let out a mortified gasp in turn, hands clasping the front of her frilly designer blouse.

"Hello." The student greeted with a curt nod of his head, a glance as indifferent and stiff as he could muster trailing over those present in the large living as he walked in with the tray and stopped in the middle of the room, expectant.

"Arthur…" the blond's uncle finally hissed, gaze narrowing in a way which sent chills down his nephew's spine.

The overweight, middle-aged man seated on the couch in front of the frozen couple turned with some difficulty, his blue gaze sweeping over the young man appreciatively before he smiled widely. "Ah!" he exclaimed cheerfully. "So this is the boy, then. Very cute, I'll say," he chuckled. "A pleasant surprise, I'd have thought him to be more like you, old pal!" he added, laughing openly now.

Benedict cleared his throat as the man sat up with some effort and relieved Arthur of the tray which had suddenly become several pounds heavier, setting it down onto the coffee table, the wide smile lingering on his face. "Richard, this is my nephew, Arthur. Arthur, this is Mr. Richard Jones."

For fuck's sake, for fuck's sake, for fuck's sake… the man was what, fifty? The younger Englishman only bit his lip, beholding the other warily, eyes slightly wide and unable to force even the faintest smile upon his face, instead barely holding back from showing the full extent of his horror.

"Arthur…?"

The unexpected, yet familiar voice had the student wheeling around brusquely, only to discover none other than Alfred F. _Jones_ (never in a million years would he have made the connection) standing straight-backed but awkward nevertheless near the book-laden shelves. The taller blond, his usual cheerful smile gone and face uncharacteristically pale, was wearing a dark brown suit with vest and his usually windswept, unruly hair was now combed and slicked to perfection. All in all, he looked like a grandfather from the fifties… only young. God. Arthur stared, blinking and only managing to add to the other's obvious discomfort.

As the green-eyed blond turned, the bunny tail attached to his backside came into the other guest's full view and the man did not hesitate to grope it in one hearty motion, causing the owner to jump slightly. "Hey Al, this is good stuff, son!" he observed.

"Dad, please…" Alfred breathed out weakly, hand flying to pinch the bridge of his nose and clumsily disguised as an attempt to adjust his glasses.

In turn, Arthur felt faint and absolutely mortified, if this was a bad joke, it was the worst ever played on him and if it wasn't… What the hell was Alfred doing here, for God's sake, _Alfred_ of all people having to witness the dreadful crap which was his fate? He hardly registered his uncle asking whether they knew each other already from school and the other student's barely mumbled answer that yes, they were somewhat acquainted. It didn't matter, that. All it mattered was that the man just introduced by his family seemed to be every bit the pervert he'd expected and on top of it (and the one thing he would have never ever _bloody_ expected), he was Alfred's father. Father? So – for fuck's sake! – what would that make _him_?

The Englishman was promptly pulled back from the increasingly appalling thoughts when a hand gripped his wrist and he was dragged in a hurry from the living-room, across the large, sumptuous hallway and out in the back garden. Finally released, he stopped to catch his breath, panting slightly, lifting his gaze shyly to rest upon the lapels of the American's suit jacket.

"My face is up here, damn it!" the other snapped at last, causing Arthur to look up instantly and meet the taller blond's scowl. "Oh God, just stop staring at it! And trust me, I am well aware that it is the ugliest suit in the fucking history of ugly suits!"

Un-bloody-believable. Jones was worrying about the suit. He buried his face in his palms, letting out a long held back sob.

"Alfred, am I really going to marry your father?!" he murmured, sniffing.

"Wha-…?! No, of course not! But I apologize for… him grabbing you earlier, he does that kind of stuff after he's had a drink or two and besides, he wouldn't miss an opportunity to embarrass me for anything in the world…" The bespectacled blond shuffled his feet as he spoke, looking away. "But no… you're not supposed to marry him, you're supposed to marry me."

"Oh."

"But I didn't know, I swear!" Alfred went on, biting his lower lip. "He only told me… well he only told me what I was already expecting, namely that he'd decided upon a suitable someone and that the deal was as good as made. But otherwise didn't bother with any details."

The smaller blond snorted bitterly. "Well, what can I say? Likewise here. Feel welcome to join the club…" he said and sneezed loudly.

"Oh, for Christ's sake, here!" The American hastily shrug out of his suit jacket and draped it around Arthur's shoulders. "Why the hell did you dress like that anyway?! The fuck were you thinking?!" he inquired angrily.

"HELLO _MES AMIS_!" a voice boomed out of the blue from across the tall hedge bordering Benedict's garden and the two of them turned around sharply, discovering a beaming Francis watching them with curious excitement from the other side, a glass of champagne in his hand. "Could it be that you're having a 'vicars and bunnies' party and you have not invited me?! That's very rude!"

Oh. Good God, no.

"Heh… hey Francis!" Alfred replied forcing a careless grin. "Um… actually… it's not what it looks like, okay dude? It's just… we were… trying out some Halloween costumes! Yeah!" he explained, tugging playfully at one of Arthur's fluffy ears. "The fuck is he doing here?! And I don't look like a fucking _vicar_, what the fuck is he saying?!" he asked through gritted teeth.

"Ah well, at any rate, you look amazing! This combination is so kinky," the Frenchman observed. "I really hope you'd consider it for my party next week!" he added, pulling out his phone to take a photo.

"N-no bloody way, here goes my place in the students' council…" Arthur whined softly, fingers digging helplessly into the shoulder of the other blond, behind which he was unsuccessfully trying to hide.

Without a single word of reply, the American wheeled around and headed back inside the mansion, pulling the smaller young man with him.

* * *

"Alfred, is everything alright, son?"

"Yeah Dad, I'll just take Arthur to lie down for a bit, his head hurts," he explained as they passed by the living-room door in a rush. Richard Jones burst into laughter at his son's explanation, causing the boy to shake his head and curse under his breath.

"Just be down in two hours, alright darling? We'll be having dinner at seven!" Mrs. Kirkland shouted in a high-pitched voice.

Knowing they would have to resume their little private talk, Arthur took him to one of the bedrooms on the first floor and ushered him in. Nervously, his hand slipped and slammed the door a bit too hard before slumping against it.

"Well, anyway," he began hesitantly, seeing how the other had walked up to the tall window and stared beyond the glass, hands clasped behind his back and fingers twitching. "Now you know why I didn't... why I took all those ridiculous measures to hide my identity at the party. In fact… that was the only party I've ever been to in all of four years of school and only because my friends insisted…" He paused, fighting back a sob. "You see, my uncle demanded that I behave exemplary and keep a flawless reputation so that when the time came he could make the best business possible in selling me out…"

Uttering those awful words at last caused the tears to spill and the green-eyed student sniffed, seeing no point in keeping up any sort of pretense. "See, the truth is that we're broke and buried in debts, just so that my uncle can have this mansion and the cars and the… and he already married my older cousin off to some old pervert who abused him and put him into the hospital several times. And this morning I was so scared, so scared that I got drunk off Bondevik's secret supplies and… and stole this outfit. God, I can't even begin to imagine what you must think of me now…"

Alfred turned slowly, his eyes wide and wary and gulped, tugging at his tie. "Fuck… I-I'm sorry Arthur… I didn't mean to make it sound like any of this was your fault."

"I know… And I know this is bloody messed up, but… it was my last stand as a free man, if you know what I mean," Arthur stated, still looking away and wiping his nose with his cuff.

The American snorted, proceeding to remove his spectacles. Right on top of his left cheekbone and previously hidden by the rim of the glasses there was a fading bruise, poorly concealed with foundation a shade too light for his sun-kissed skin. "Oh, trust me, I too had one last stand as a free man, but it was nowhere near that epic," he said in turn, bitterly. "My dad's always been a huge dick but I didn't really think _this_ would happen until, well, it actually did. He even put me in this hideous suit so that I'd look _proper_."

Red-rimmed green eyes looked up at last, blinking tiredly. "And so… now what?" the Englishman asked, taking a few dragged steps forward.

"To be honest, right now I feel like I've stumbled into Mad Hatter's tea party," Alfred confessed, running a hand through his hair, awkwardly. "I don't even know whether I should cry or laugh or..." He sighed and shook his head, blinking.

Arthur stared back at his boots in turn, silent, arms crossed over the jacket still filled with the other's warmth as the drying tears tugged slightly at his cheeks. The pleasant, alcohol-induced trance which had made it all relatively bearable had worn off completely by now, leaving nothing but the beginning of a headache in its wake. Once past the initial shock and worry that his precious arrangement was going to hell, it looked like his uncle had been quick to regain his good humor. Ironically, the green-eyed blond had gotten it right with the slutty outfit – Mr. Jones had appreciated it instead of being appalled. On a less bright note, Alfred's face had dropped and not in a good way…

He gasped in surprise when a pair of arms was wrapped around his lithe frame and he was pressed into the taller blond's chest, the American burying his nose into the golden strands. The fingers of one hand rubbed soothingly the nape of his neck before sliding down his back slowly, while the thumb of the other was raised to wipe off the moisture from his face. Green orbs looked up shyly into the baby blue ones, then heavy eyelids fell shut when soft lips were eventually pressed against his.

The kiss was shy, almost chaste at first, then gradually became more heated. Alfred tugged a bit at the bowtie holding the smaller blond's white collar together, undoing it and letting the whole contraption fall to the floor, exposing the pale throat he was quick to latch his mouth onto. The eager fingers which had been reassuringly entwined with the Englishman's for a brief moment freed themselves to slide the jacket off the other's shoulders and roam onto the soft skin underneath, until they encountered the fluffy faux bunny tail.

Arthur shivered slightly, all their previous less-than-successful experience forgotten and feeling as if touched for the first time, utterly enthralled by the sensations. His mind was still reeling, what if he was dreaming after all, soon to wake to a crude reality? Was it really Jones the man he was supposed to betroth as per his uncle's wish? What were the odds? And still, even so, it didn't change the fact that they were still being forced into this arrangement.

"I-I think…"

"Baby, you think too much," came the whispered reply as the taller blond nuzzled his ear and slowly pushed him down across the bed, climbing on top of him. "How about you help me out of this, okay?"

The green-eyed young man unbuttoned and pulled off the other's vest with shaky fingers, then worked to undo and discard his tie and shirt, gasping loudly as one bold hand slipped up the outside of his bare thigh, sneaking under the apron. Alfred's eyes widened playfully at the discovery that his betrothed to be wasn't wearing any underwear.

"A-Alfred… t-the thing is…I'm not good at this," the Englishman whimpered softly, his cheeks deliciously flushed.

"Shhhh… s'alright. We'll take it easy, sweet bunny…" Alfred scooted lower, nipping at the smaller blond's collarbone before his tongue darted out to circle one soft nipple and then the other while his fingers slipped beneath the other's body and traced every bump of his spine, making him arch his body further into his mouth.

"A-ahhhhhh…" the Englishman gasped as his suitor pushed himself further down and the skillful tongue slipped inside his navel, teasing the miniscule crevice. "Ah… b-bloody hell," he panted helplessly, gripping the sheets.

The taller blond advanced even lower with his ministrations and brought his hands down to rub his thumbs teasingly onto Arthur's hipbones, before his mouth closed onto one of them completely, over the black silk of the apron. "Mmmhhh… just… d-do something…it….ah- hurts…" the green-eyed young man begged in a cracked voice as the other mercilessly tortured the delicate bone by licking and sucking on it painfully slow. "P-please…"

Alfred gently pushed his knees apart and lifted the skimpy piece of fabric, revealing his currently neglected but already fully erect member, and pressed a soft, almost chaste kiss onto the moist tip. His tongue teased it playfully as he licked around from top to base, then grazed his teeth over the tip once more before taking it into his mouth entirely.

"Nghhhh…aa-ahhh… A-Al, I'm going to… to- ahhhhh…" the Englishman warned shyly, arching his back as much as it would go when the other eventually sucked him dry, drinking in all that his body could offer.

His betrothed to be climbed back on top of him, licking his lips with a wicked smirk as Arthur dropped back onto the pillows in the afterglow of his orgasm, still panting softly with his eyes closed and his face adorned by the most delicious blush. "We're not done yet, sweet bunny…" Alfred murmured against his lower lip, swollen from all the biting he'd done to it, while he shuffled out of his trousers and boxers and kicked them off completely. Arthur hastily pulled him in for a kiss, grinding their hips together for some much welcomed friction.

"Suck, baby…" the American instructed, pulling back and bringing three of his fingers to the other's lips, and the green-eyed blond gulped almost inconspicuously before obediently and generously coating them with saliva. His lover claimed his mouth once more, working his tongue to partially distract his attention as he inserted first one finger, and then another, searching for the sweet spot that would make him see stars. Arthur suddenly moaned loudly against the other's lips, body jolting and hips bucking into the other's, begging for more of that mind-blowing sensation.

"AHHH! God! Bloody h-hell!" he almost screamed, squeezing his eyes shut in obvious pain as Alfred eventually pushed himself in, while his fingernails dug viciously into the taller blond's biceps.

"Shhhhhh, it's alright baby… It hurts a bit now but it will pass… You'll feel better soon…" his lover soothed, remaining perfectly still and planting butterfly kisses all over his flushed cheeks, now wet with a mixture of sweat and tears.

"I'm…I'm fine now…" the Englishman whispered, a few moments later, somewhat loosening his grip. "M-move…"

Alfred promptly fulfilled his wish, cautiously and gently at first then gradually increasing the speed of his thrusts. "Fuck you're… hmphhh… so good, so tight baby," he whispered licking the shell of his ear as the softest, most delicious moans escaped Arthur's lips.

"Yeah, right … right there… ahahhh, yes! Ah, Alfred ahhh…YES!" the green-eyed blond all but shouted his lover's name as his peak hit him, the wave of pleasure so unexpectedly powerful that he had to bite it into the back of his balled fist.

For a while after they both simply lied there, still awkwardly sprawled across the mattress, Alfred catching his breath while resting onto the other's chest while Arthur's fingers gently treaded through his tousled hair.

"Don't worry baby, it's gonna be okay. Everything's gonna be okay… somehow."

**THE END**


End file.
